


The Least Expected

by hithelleth



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M, Uncle/Niece Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/pseuds/hithelleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When The Monroe Republic and The Georgia Federation clash, Miles and Charlie are injured and left for dead by their new allies. Help comes from where they least expect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Least Expected

War is chaotic. Shooting, orders being shouted, explosions, screams, and the incessant whirling of the helicopters above their heads.

An explosion sends Miles flying through the air. He lands on his back a few meters away, completely open. Charlie runs to him, shaking him into consciousness, trying to help him get to cover. Another helicopter approaches in low flight around the corner.

It is all a blur of slow-motioned images and muffled sounds in Charlie’s head. Dark blots appearing on Miles’ shirt. Dragging him behind a pile of rubble with everything she has. Something warm brushing her hip, something sharp and hot digging into her thigh. Yelling for help. She falls over something on the ground. Someone – green uniform – trying to pull her away from Miles.

“He’s as good as dead!”

She fights, kicks him. She won’t leave Miles.

The noise of the helicopters is closer, louder.

“Fine! Suit yourself!” The Georgian jerk lets go of her, running away, bent low to the ground.

The militia come out of smoky air. She finds her firearm and starts shooting, but the weapon fails. Someone rips it from her hands. Someone else crouches beside Miles.

“Got a pulse.”

They take Miles away.

She stumbles up to follow him, even if it means going back to Philadelphia. Her leg won’t hold her, though. She screams in pain and frustration. 

Someone grabs her. A clear, sharp voice. Monroe.

She recoils from him, but her leg gives in again.

“Oh, for god’s sake!” he swears, catching her in his arms. “Let’s go.”

***

Charlie wakes up to a strange room, quiet voices. She focuses her eyes, recognising Monroe.

“Where is Miles? What did you do with him?” she demands, struggling up. Her leg hurts.

The woman in a militia uniform who is with him in the room rushes to her, trying to hold her back.

“You’ve lost quite some blood, but the shot through the thigh was clear and didn’t damage the bone and the other one just bruised your hip. But you sprained your ankle, so you should stay off it if you want to heal properly,” the woman explains.

Charlie ignores her.

“I want to see Miles,” she insists.

“Fine.” Monroe comes closer.  She flinches away from him.

“Do you want to see Miles or not?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me help you.”

He unceremoniously scoops her up in his arms. She remembers it’s not the first time. He takes her two doors down the hallway.

Inside the room he sets her down on her healthy leg, letting her lean on him for support.

Charlie draws in a breath.

Miles is pale, motionless, and there are tubes and wires attached to him.

“He’s alive.” _For now._ Monroe doesn’t say it, but Charlie hears it anyway.

“Can I stay?” she pleads, whispering.

Monroe helps her to a sofa across the room and puts her legs up. He crosses the room, pausing by the door to look at Miles before existing without another word.

Outside Charlie hears him giving orders to someone. She can’t pay attention to it. The only thing that matters is that Miles survives.

***

Bass spends his days between endless reports and expectations of orders in the war room and checking up on Miles, sleeping – not unconscious, Bass reminds himself – and the girl.

Miles develops a fever caused by an infection. The doctors douse him with drugs to keep him from tossing and turning in his delirium so his wounds wouldn’t reopen.

When it’s the worst, Bass sits by his bed, holding Miles’ hand, telling him stupid things about the old days in the Marines, about the Republic, the things he is doing, how it is going to be, hoping that the words might somehow get through Miles’ half-conscious state, hoping it would somehow help. He doesn’t even mind that Charlotte can hear it all.

Charlotte is almost always with Miles, save for when she sleeps.

Even so, he sometimes finds her asleep or dozing off and he carries her back to her room or at least puts a blanket over her.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she asks, waking up on one such occasion.

“Because I’m such a terrible person, huh?” he brushes her hair away from her face.

He wonders why himself. All he knows is that when he saw Miles from the helicopter, he wanted to make sure that the man is really dead, finally. Only that when he was told Miles was still alive, Bass felt a rush of relief and fear, realizing he couldn’t watch Miles die, not even after everything. What was he supposed to do with the girl, blood soaking her trousers as she practically crawled after Miles? The headstrong, brave, reckless Charlotte.

Bass hears her screaming one night when Miles is worse again.

He is up anyway, so he goes to see what it is about. He finds her trashing in her bed, breathing heavily, calling for Miles. He shakes her awake.

“It’s just a nightmare. Miles is… right here.”

She nods in understanding after a few moments and settles back in.

“Don’t go. Please,” she adds when he intends to leave.

It’s a bad idea, but what the hell. He lies down on the other side of the bed. She turns her back to him and seems to relax.

“Go to sleep, Charlotte.”

He doesn’t, staring at the ceiling for a long time after.

***

Miles’ state slowly improves. The tubes and wires come off one by one. He mostly sleeps, but the doctors say he is out of danger, at last.

Charlie’s leg is healing as well, so when Miles rests, she starts exploring.

Monroe must have given her a free pass or something, for the guards merely look at her without stopping her when she hobbles around with the help of a pair of crutches the doctor provided after that first day.

Once she wanders into a large, impressive room. She guesses it is Monroe’s office.

She sits in one of the armchairs, facing the fireplace, invisible to anyone standing before the grand desk. She puts her leg on the small table in front of it to rest for just a few minutes.

When Monroe comes in, accompanied with an officer, she is sure he would notice her there. He doesn’t, not right away, not until the officer leaves and he sits behind his desk. If he is surprised, he hides it well when he looks at her. She expects him to tell her off, tell her to leave, but he doesn’t. The door open again just then, another officer reporting and Bass focuses his attention on him.

She spends a couple of hours there, listening in, learning so many things she has never thought of. It is enlightening, although a lot of it is rather confusing. She spaces out a few times, especially when Monroe is silently studying the reports only to be stirred out of it by his voice.

She must have dozed off in the end for she startles suddenly when a shadow falls over her.

Monroe scoots down beside the armchair, propping an elbow against the armrest while drawing lazy lines across her thigh.

“What am I going to do with you, Charlotte?”

It is a question she has been asking herself. But if he doesn’t know, how can she? She shrugs.

He studies her for a while, remaining as he is. Then he stands and helps her up. “Let’s go eat something.”

***

Having meals together becomes a habit. So does finding Charlotte often somewhere nearby.

Bass finds himself in a tight spot, one he has never predicted.

Charlie hasn’t either. She hasn’t thought she could ever feel so comfortable around Monroe that she would actually look forward to seeing him.

It is more than that. It’s screwed up. Charlie spends some time telling herself this thing she is feeling is not attraction before she gives up.

Bass is not stupid. He sees she is drawn to him. A few months back he would have used that without mercy the first chance he got. After all, he has wanted her from the moment she jumped in front of Strausser’s gun. Of course, the very memory of that, of all those things, is what is stopping him now. Because now he has one more chance – one last chance – to make things right.

That is why he steps back one evening after dinner on the doorstep of her room – her intention perfectly obvious when she looks up at him from way too close – instead of kissing her.  

“Why not?” she sulks.

Bass gives it a thought for a second. “So I wouldn’t be the monster you think I am.” He touches her cheek with the back of his hand. “Good night, Charlotte.”

***

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” she tells him the next day.

He raises his eyebrows at her.

“Not anymore,” she amends.

Bass scoffs.

“I… All I saw from the Militia was bad… and then Dad and...” she tries to defend herself. She gives up. “You don’t understand.”

Bass puts down the papers in his hand. “Oh, but I do, Charlotte.” He gets up and comes closer to her, touching her shoulder. “I do understand, maybe better than you think, all your losses…” He trails off.

***

That is the problem, after all, finding out that they can understand each other. It is what brings them closer more than anything physical.

They dance around it for a while longer. But Charlie is tired of denying herself what she wants and Bass in far from being a saint. So they let it happen eventually, when the night is cold and the fire pleasantly warm and their bodies are being pulled together like magnets.

It is almost easy, effortless, at once new and familiar as if they were always meant for this: skin on skin, their tongues entangling, their hands caressing, every touch a burst of sensation, their limbs wrapping around each other, sharing the heat that burns inside them, their names on each other’s lips as they fall over the edge.

Neither of them fools themselves it is just one night.

***

Miles is awake for longer periods of time. Charlie reads to him, Bass relies reports, captain Baker provides a sarcastic commentary on this and that when he stops by.

Charlie can hear Miles and Bass arguing, though fairly constructively, a few times. It is good because they need to clear things up and it is also a sign that Miles is getting better. In time they seem to have reached some sort of an agreement.

Miles begins asking questions, those he hasn’t asked yet. It is nice in an annoying kind of way and they can’t actually resent him.

“Is he good to you?” Miles takes Charlie by surprise one afternoon when she reads quietly, thinking he has dozed off.

She can’t fake not understanding, but she still looks at him quizzically.

“Come on, I see you around him and,” Miles rolls his eyes, “my hearing is still intact, too.”

She blushes, but replies truthfully: “Yes, he is.”

“Good.”

“What would you do if I weren’t?” Bass walks in at that moment. He stops by Charlie’s side, touching her cheek with the back of his hand. Miles isn’t surprised, though he should be, to see her lean into the touch. He should be surprised to see Bass looking at her with some sort of tender affection – something Miles knows Bass is saving for very few people – but he isn’t either.

“So difficult to believe we’re getting along, Miles?” Bass smirks, but there is a hint of sadness in his voice.

“No,” Miles denies, almost reflexively, “It’s just that… what happened?”

“I’ve changed.” Charlie looks at Bass, “And so has he.”

“Yes. Many times over the years and mostly for worse as you pointed out,” Bass agrees, not even trying to hide the edge to the last few words.

***

“Why did you do this? Helped me? Instead of… you know… I thought you wanted me dead.” Miles asks Bass.

Bass has to think for a beat. “I guess I can’t let you die any more than you can put a bullet through my head.”

They remain in awkward silence for a while, Bass looking out the window, Miles studying the pattern on the carpet.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a while.

Bass looks at him.

“For what I said.” Miles elaborates. “I didn’t mean it.”

“What exactly _didn’t_ you mean, Miles?” Bass asks quietly, reining in his emotions the best he can.

“That you are nothing to me… I lied.”

“Because of Charlotte.”

“I… Bass… I couldn’t let her down…”

Bass sighs. “Of course not.”

***

Charlie settles in Bass’ arms, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“No one’s telling you to.”

“No.” He doesn’t understand. She looks him in the eyes. “I don’t want to leave _you_.”

Bass shakes his head, scoffing. “Charlotte… Why?” he demands.

“Because,” Charlie shrugs, “I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting and running. And, it’s strange, but I like you.”

Bass waits before he responds to that. “I like you, too, Charlotte.” He cups her chin, adding: “You don’t need to leave or run or fight if you don’t want to.”

She smiles and he kisses her and holds her tightly.

“What made you think you about it? Leaving?” he asks her.

“I don’t know… if you and Miles try to kill each other again…”

“Maybe you should just let us.”

She glares at him.

“I think we’ve had enough of that, Charlotte.” Bass grins, wistfully. “Besides, now that you’re here… It’s different.”

Different doesn’t even begin to describe it. Everything is different than Charlie used to think or expect. But like this she is finally okay with it.

***

Miles walks in on them making out in one of the rooms one evening.

He is nailed to the spot for a moment, seeing Charlie striding Bass on a sofa, her back to the door, kissing him, grinding needily against him.

He makes too much noise in a hurry to turn around. Bass pulls back.

“Don’t leave on our account.”

Miles hesitates.

Charlie should probably feel embarrassed. But seeing Miles awkwardly leaning against the doorframe, his eyes dark and heavy and a visible reaction to what he has seen so far a little lower makes her feel something else.

Charlie turns back to Bass, kissing him again, rolling her hips.

Miles intends to leave when he moves his legs, he does. Instead he drops into the nearest armchair. Just for a second, then he will leave.

Except that seeing Bass mouthing along Charlie’s jaw down to her neck, massaging her breast with one hand and her ass with the other, sends a different signal to his groin. Miles palms himself through the pants to relieve the tension. He really should get up and leave.

Bass pulls apart, sliding both his hands through Charlie’s hair, looking at her closely.

“Why don’t you go help Miles out?” he suggests, loud enough for Miles to hear.

“What?” Miles spits.

Charlie looks back at him.

“Don’t say neither of you has thought of it before.”

Charlie shrugs, still looking at Miles. “I have.”

“Since fucking Chicago.” Miles just blurts it out, his brain having obviously moved way too south to be rational.

Charlie turns back to Bass, who grins. “Well, then.” He and Charlie kiss, long and slow, before she slips out of his arms and comes to Miles.

Miles tries to say something, but fails, and then she is right there in his lap. She takes his face in her hands and moves closer to kiss him.

“Christ, Charlie…” Miles breathes and then he’s kissing her, lacing his fingers through her hair to keep their mouths aligned and it’s everything he has ever imagined. He claims her mouth mercilessly, pushing his tongue inside, licking, tasting, taking everything he can before she changes her mind.

Charlie doesn’t change her mind. She has wanted it too long to let the chance slip away.

She goes boldly for his pants, freeing him. He tugs off her shirt, needing to touch her, taste her skin, suck on those beautiful breasts. He glimpses Bass occasionally, watching from the sofa, not even touching himself, his eyes fixed on them as Charlie shimmies out of her pants and lowers herself on him.

He kisses her again as she starts moving, holding her hips to support her.

Bass stands up and comes behind her. He bends down and tilts her head up to kiss her as Miles buries his face into the crook of her neck.

Miles curses as Bass lets go of Charlie’s face, sneaking his hand between them to dip his fingers into her folds. Miles breathes in deeply. He wants to hold back, wait for her. He doesn’t have to for long, because Bass knows exactly what he’s doing and she’s so close that a few expert strokes over her nub bring her over the edge and her muscles clench around him. His balls tighten and he has just enough time to lift her off him before he comes over both of them.

As they sag spent in the armchair, they are very much aware of Bass taking himself in his hands, never looking away from them as he strokes himself, hard and fast, grabbing an armrest with his free hand for support when he comes in his hand. He drops down to the floor next to them after he’s finished, leaning against the side of the armchair.

“Well,” he grins, panting. “That was something. Although I suggest somewhere more comfortable next time.”

***

Because of course, there is next time.

Only that the next time they take it to bed and take their time.

“We are fucked up,” declares Miles much later.

Bass chuckles. “Yes, we are.”

Charlie and Miles laugh with him, while they all snuggle closer. They might be fucked up, but it doesn’t matter. Because fucked up they actually feel all right. 

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Good? Bad?
> 
> Un-beta’d, so quibble away if you see something. Comments are always welcome.


End file.
